Yep.

Day 19 – Nicknames you have and why

This is almost a ridiculous topic.

It would take way too long for me to list out all the combinations of cruelty and colorfulness my name has inspired and it’s very likely that the name you surmised with your best canned wit and wisdom has already been heard. People have been calling me things that they were “comfortable” with for years. Never mind the fact that they weren’t even trying to say my name correctly because it was too difficult for them and they felt embarrassed about even having to attempt to say something foreign, no no, it was easier that I was the bigger person and just took it up the ass and was happy with whatever name people were ok with.

“Byong” isn’t even my Korean name. The way that people say it, the way that you hear it “bee-’YONG” is actually THE Americanized and accented version of my Korean name, which phonetically is best spelled “pyung” or “byung,” it’s a hard B do your best. But not opposed to the idea that some names are best re-worked in favor of our society, I’m looking at you Vietnamese and Chinese people, with my Korean pride halfway stowed I settled for my “American name” to be my American pronounced Korean name.

As a bonus, I’ll let you guys figure out the many different things people called me, there’s no point in listing them, you’ve probably already come up with a few by the end of this sentence.

I define nickname as a name someone else gives you that’s other than your name, usually a shortened form or something symbolic or representative of who you are. People don’t really give themselves nicknames, that’s pretty lame. Avatars, Screen Names and the like I want to say are a bit different. Nobody actually calls me Doorknobdude, or DKD. I mean it’s happened, but it’s not like I expect to hear it outside of the internets.

In Little League they called me “B.Y.” My first coach was a guy who looked and spoke like he drove a tractor. Couldn’t for the life of him say my name, nor did he have the patience to. In fact, I remember the day when he announced to the team that my name will from that moment on be “B.Y” out of sheer frustration. In those days I grew up in predominantly Black and Mexican neighborhoods mixed with what would be best described as Inland Empire White folk. Play nice and get along, that was key.

In High School when we had formed something of a gang but not really, where monikers were big and alter-egos were part of your growing up at a time where your culture bred a lot of angst and ethnic violence, where identity crises were a dime a dozen among the lost and uncontrolled youth, I was simply known as Bark. Initially Bark-Dog, but it eventually phased itself into just a simple monosyllabic moniker that was derived mostly from my last name. I hung out with guys named, RooC, BoomShock, Wasc, Sketch, John-Boy, Happy Snappy and Hazer. You may or may not at one time in your life seen these names on a flier for a party or maybe even a liquor store wall which I know nothing about.

Today, I feel like I’m too old to have a nickname unless I pilot a fighter jet and play volleyball, shirtless with pristine hair, aviators and man shorts.

People just call me by my name, which seems proper at this age. I used to have a problem with girls calling me “Bark” as it didn’t feel right unless it was preceded by a “Mr.” or “Big Daddy” because it felt like a boys club thing. Now girls just do it to piss me off.

Haha, I deserve it.